Shalom
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Ziva says goodbye to Gibbs. [Platonic; father/daughter]. Tag to 'Past, Present, and Future.'


_a/n: tag to 'Past, Present, and Future'. Gibbs & Ziva's conversation. The way I see it, Ziva rambles-and Gibbs is Gibbs. He's that good listener Tony told her he was. _

_for me, this is cathartic. not ashamed to admit to some serious tears while writing it; and it ties in heavily to Season 4's "Shalom."_

* * *

He looked tiredly at the familiar name flashing on his cell phone.

He listened to the incessant ringing, loud and out of place in his empty house.

His head ached.

The last time she had called him from far away—the last time she had found herself running, and stopped long enough to call him—she had been hiding in his house, in his basement, like a little girl finding shelter from a storm, and her call had dragged him back from Mexico and sun-drenched misery.

He took a long drink of his beer—he would need it, for this, and something stronger—after.

He pressed his thumb down on the worn green button.

"Hey, Ziver."

There was a very long silence and he wondered if somewhere, she was taking a long sip of a drink, too—he didn't mind the silence. He had grown so accustomed to it in all these long years. He thrived in it.

"Hello, Jethro," she greeted finally.

Her voice was very shy, very small—very calm. He—he smiled. He hadn't heard from her in so long, and he had felt so desperate, so angry and out of sorts, while DiNozzo searched the world for her. He heard her voice—and he knew she was all right.

He wrapped his hand around his beer and said nothing. He simply waited.

"I am—I am not coming back to NCIS," she said quietly.

Gibbs nodded. He toyed with the peeling label on the longneck and cleared his throat.

"Figured that," he said gruffly.

He heard her take a deep breath.

"I know what you are thinking," she began in a rush, words flying out of her across thousands and thousands of miles, hindered through this tiny electric device. "You risked—you all risked—your lives for me in Somalia—and I fought so hard for my citizenship, and my place on your team," she paused, as if thinking for a second he might say something—but Gibbs was silent. "I have not forgotten that, Gibbs. It is not that I do not appreciate—all of the things, everything—that you have done for me—you, and the team—Tony," she faltered again. "I have been running—from these monsters after us again—and I ran straight into my past, into Ari," she managed. "I—I looked on the face of the woman who loved my brother and I—I saw her tears, and I wondered what other child or mother has cried—because of me."

Gibbs lowered his head, thinking of Mexico again—of a bitter woman, and an angry man, and the father they had lost as children—because of him.

"I followed this path—backwards in my life, trying to find the moment when I walked away from the things the child Ziva wanted and I—I found it buried," she said shakily. "And when I dug up—the things I had wanted, that I had hidden away, _my hands were dirty_ and I thought—I could not stop thinking."

Gibbs listened. He listened to her stream of consciousness, her nervous talking just to get it out, and he took a drink. His head ached again; his brow and his eye throbbed, bruised and stinging.

"I never wanted to be a killer," Ziva said softly. "When my mother died—I took care of Tali. I was sad, but I—I had Tali. When I lost Tali," she broke off. "When I lost Tali—I was blinded by the need for revenge. And that is where it started," she decided. "That is where it started for me—when the one thing that I loved more than anything was taken away, and suddenly all the violence in the world was justified if it mean I could avenge her—but now I have seen the other side of that," she said. "I—I have seen the pain I felt reflected in the eyes of one of my victim's loved ones—and I know Ari had to die; I know these people who I have killed are monsters—but I have only created more monsters," she broke off, her voice cracking. "And when we create monsters—_how long is it before we ourselves become them_?"

Gibbs knew there were tears on her face—even from so far away—and he closed his eyes against the image. He had never liked to see his Kelly cry, and the sentiment with Ziva—he found it was the same.

"I do not want to be a monster, Gibbs."

He grunted warily, wordlessly—she would never be a monster.

He heard her swallow hard.

"I want to start over," she revealed, her words hitching painfully. "I want to—I no longer want to be a part of this cycle of bloodshed. You told me—you told me the killer in me me died in Somalia—but the soldier did not. I do not want to be a solider anymore. I want to _be—compassionate,"_ she said delicately. "I want to be everything my sister never got a chance to be in this world. I want to—you taught me that I don't have to be the woman my father shaped me into, Gibbs," Ziva said earnestly. "You gave me a home. You taught me the right people to trust. You taught me justice. And I—I want to be the woman that the little girl Ziva dreamed of being—the ballerina, the mother," she paused, her voice breaking again. "I need to leave. I need to find out who I am."

Gibbs set his jaw tightly.

She was crying, now.

"And this is so hard, Gibbs. It is so hard to walk away. I could not—I could not have called you if Tony had not," she hesitated. "He found me—in Israel. I asked him to lie to you—I wish I had not. But I knew you—you could bring me back with a look. Tony…I think you have known, Gibbs, that for a long time I have—I have loved Tony. But I could not bear to hurt you. And if you had asked me—to come back," she paused shakily, "so you will not be lonely—"

"Ziva," he interrupted gruffly.

He shook his head to himself, still rubbing his thumb against the label of the beer. He set his jaw tightly, trying to pull words from the ever-present silence in his mind.

He thought of Ziva—as a daughter. He had lost one daughter but this—this was not losing her. To put it in perspective; if he could have known Kelly was happy and alive somewhere, he would have rather that be the case—but as it stood; he would never see Kelly smile again and Ziva—

"You do what you have to do, Ziver," he said firmly.

She let out a breath that she had been holding for a lifetime.

In silence, he listened to her compose herself—and then he heard her laugh.

"You have meant so much to me, Gibbs," she said earnestly. "You will never understand how much. And I—the last time I called you—like this, I needed you to save me," she reminded him—and he thought of Mexico again. "I am calling you this time—because you have taught me to save myself. And I—cannot do it without your blessing."

He was silent a long time.

This was woman he did not want to let go—it was wholly platonic; he loved her like any man would love his surrogate child, and to see her walk away might cripple him—but to see her suffer was so much worse.

He wanted her to find what she was looking for. He—he knew she was doing this for him, and that they could relate to each other—because he was the center of a storm of violence, too—but he was an old dog, and it was too late to learn new tricks.

But she—Ziva David was young, she was resilient, and she could still find what she needed to and learn what she needed to—she could still be…Gibbs smiled to himself—a ballerina.

He lifted his chin, and took another long drink of beer.

He cleared his throat.

"Shalom, Ziver."

He blessed her with peace.

He wished only that he could have a moment to place a protective kiss to the top of her head.

On the other end of the phone, she laughed quietly—relieved; gracious.

"Shalom, Jethro."

* * *

_Shalom [peace]_  
_in Hebrew_  
_can be used for_  
_hello_  
_and _  
_goodbye  
_

* * *

_-alexandra_

_story# 168_


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